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Dinner

“Why if it isn’t Mr. Charles Ashton. Whatever are you doing here, darlin’? I thought you was planning on sticking around in Southampton for a while,” an older, well-dressed woman asked as Charlie entered the First Class Dining Hall. He recognized her, of course, as millionaire Molly Brown from Colorado. He wasn’t too surprised that she would find a way to make a prying question sound innocent enough.

“Mrs. Brown,” he replied, “it’s nice to see you. It seems I had a change of plans and am now available to join all of you on what is sure to be an historic maiden voyage of the RMS Titanic.”

“Well, it sure is nice to see you as well,” she gushed, not letting him get by so easily. “Where is your lovely betrothed, Miss Westmoreland? I would love to meet the young lady in person.”

Charlie hesitated, staring into her eyes for a moment to ascertain whether or not she already knew the answer to that question. Since the inquiry seemed to be sincere, he determined she had no idea what had transpired between himself and Miss Westmoreland just a few days ago. “I believe Miss Westmoreland will be staying on in Southampton with her mother—for now.”

If she had further questions, the appearance of Benjamin Guggenheim and his mistress, Leontine Aubert, was enough to draw her attention away from him at least long enough for him to make his escape. Charlie was never a big fan of these sorts of situations, and since Jonathan could not accompany him here, he was even more uncomfortable walking into a virtual wasps’ nest all alone. He had managed to avoid this situation the night before because many of the First Class passengers had chosen to take dinner in their quarters, as had he, and the expectations of appearing on the first night of a voyage was lessened. However, there was simply no way to avoid this event two nights in a row without raising even more suspicion, so here he was, facing the fire as it were.

Luckily, he was seated at a table consisting almost exclusively of older couples, and very few of them were at all knowledgeable about his personal life or his engagement to Mary Margaret Westmoreland. Many of them knew his father and spoke only of his business. When he mentioned he was starting a company of his own, they were intrigued and asked several questions, which gave him many other things to talk about well off the topic of Miss Westmoreland. Molly Brown, who happened to be sitting across from him, was the only one who seemed to care at all about the suspicious circumstances surrounding his presence. Dinner was almost over before she asked, “So why’d you head back home so fast, stretch?”

Charlie considered the question as he took an overwhelmingly long time to choose the correct dessert fork before he finally said, “Timing is everything, isn’t it, Mrs. Brown?”

Despite the fact that Molly Brown was outcast by many of the socialites because she was “new money,” and therefore not considered worthy of their companionship, there was a knowing wisdom in her eyes, and Charlie realized he hadn’t given her the veneration she deserved. After a few moments she simply said, “You’re a good man, Charles Ashton. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Charlie could feel the color creeping into his face, but he smiled at the woman across from him, saying quietly, “Thank you, and please, call me Charlie.”

“Just so long as you call me Molly,” she grinned, digging into her dessert.

When dinner was over, Charlie excused himself, intending to make a break for it before he could even be invited into the men’s Smoking Lounge, but just before he reached the grand staircase and possible escape, J. J. Astor stepped in front of him, offering him his hand. “Charlie,” he said in quick recognition. “I had heard you were aboard the Titanic, though we weren’t expecting you. What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“I’m well, thank you, sir. And yourself?” he replied, forcing a smile and taking the older gentleman’s hand.

“We are doing quite well,” Astor assured him just as his wife, Madeline, joined him, slipping her arm through his. “I don’t believe you’ve met my wife. This is Madeline.” The diminutive woman offered him her hand, which he took as her husband introduced him.

Upon hearing his name, Madeline gave a nod of recognition. “Yes, of course, Charlie. It’s nice to meet you at last,” she smiled. As she began to glance around with a curious expression on her face, Charlie braced himself for the inevitable question. “Where is…”

“Miss Westmoreland is not accompanying me back to New York,” he interrupted before she could even finish the question.

“Oh,” Madeline replied, still puzzled. “That’s too bad. I should have liked to have seen her. It’s been a few years since we have had the chance to speak.”

Charlie realized that, despite Mr. Astor’s age, Madeline was younger than him, and possibly younger than Mary Margaret as well. And she was also quite obviously pregnant. Not sure of exactly what one was to say under these circumstances, and knowing they were also on their honeymoon, he simply said, “I suppose congratulations are in order,” with a smile.

“Oh, yes, thank you,” she replied, returning his smile and running a hand across her abdomen. “It won’t be too much longer now.”

“Charlie, if you’ll excuse us, I will be escorting Mrs. Astor back to our chambers before I join the rest of the gentlemen in the lounge. You will be joining us, won’t you?” J.J. asked, the expression on his face implying Charlie should do so.

Despite what could only be ascertained as insistence by arguably one of the richest men in the world, Charlie declined. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to this evening, Mr. Astor.”

“Please, call me J.J.,” he said, dismissively. “Why not? You’ll miss out on all of the important discussions,” he continued, a twinkle in his eye that showed he knew most of what was said in such situations was of little value.

Charlie smiled politely. “I’m afraid I have some business matters to attend to myself.” He hoped his excuse would stick, and as Mr. Astor nodded in understanding, he began to think he would be able to retreat successfully after all.

“Very well then. But tomorrow night! I’m holding you to it!” J. J. Astor insisted.

“Tomorrow night it is,” Charlie assured him, taking his offered hand one more time. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Astor,” he added.

“You as well,” she replied. As her husband began to lead her out of the room, she turned and over her shoulder called, “Oh, and when you see her, tell Meg I said hello.”

Charlie paused mid-step and turned back to look at her, not sure he had heard correctly. “What was that?” he asked.

She had stopped now, seeing the confused expression on his face. “Meg,” she repeated, “Mary Margaret. When you see her, please tell her I said hello.”

“Right, yes, of course,” Charlie said, nodding his head. Once again, he turned and resumed his ascension up the staircase. How odd, he thought. In all of the years that I’ve known Mary Margaret, I’ve never heard anyone call her Meg. Now, today, on the day that I meet a beautiful woman named Meg, someone refers to this woman I’ve been engaged to for three years by the exact same nickname. What a strange coincidence.

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